Good Evening

Home sick, I lay in bed listening to my kids play with playdough at the kitchen table.

"I'm cutting the belly of the salmon!" My Alaskan boys says.

"Yeah?" Olive asks.

"Yeah."

"No this way," Olive directs her older brother.

"No, you can do it any way you want," Elias answers.

My rigid by-the-rules boy who often freaks out when Olive moves chairs or toys around the house just made his sick Mama smile.

Later, when I rise and join the commotion of my family for dinner, Olive asks, "All better Mommy?" Her round face full of concern.

"I'm better. Still sick but better."

And she hugs me in that fierce way of a small child, every fiber working to send me her love.

While we clean up dinner, Elias works on writing his spelling words. His homework is adapted, he only has to write each word once instead of three times like the other third graders. Still, we usually have to sit right next to him and prompt him to keep working or else he will do anything but write.

Tonight, for the first time ever, he sits by himself at the table and writes all fifteen words on his own.

This calls for lots of clapping and numerous high fives which eventually leads to a dance party in the kitchen to the Bare Naked Ladies Snacktime soundtrack.

I need to sit.

As much as I love to dance, I'm just not feeling well enough to hold hands and spin in circles with my kids.

"No sit," Olive says, pulling me back to our linoleum dance floor. I wave my arms and shake my booty and spin once before sitting again.

"I'll do a chair dance." I wave my arms from my seat at the table.

Elias climbs on me. "Can I do a lap dance?" Oh, how I love his innocence.

Olive, pantless by now (because why keep pants on when you could be naked?), does a handstand with her feet resting against the dishwasher. Her naked bum waves in the air. She pushes herself upright, runs across the kitchen to the far wall where she promptly returns to her supported handstand. Then she repeats the process. Back and forth, smiling like mad, wearing nothing but a filthy Elmo shirt, covered in pieces of pink playdough.

And I sit at the table, with a head cold and hives, my eight-year-old son on my lap, and one big ass grin on my face.

Not bad for a Monday night. And a sick one at that.

Comments

[danielle in zurich]

fantastic. get better soon!

[Kate]

Love picturing this scene! Hope you're feeling better!